


Don't Trust the Mayhem Twins in Apartment 23

by MnemonicMadness



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Drabble Collection, Flat share AU, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Mayhem Twins - Freeform, based on my daily life, more tags to be added as I go along, roommate shenanigans, that kinda says it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-12-17 20:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11858832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness
Summary: Who better to share an apartment with as an ex-government-assassin than another ex-government-assassin? Of course, with a roommate like that, a little bit of mayhem is inevitable.Or: Reese and Shaw are roommates. These are random moments inspired by random moments from my own weird life.





	1. Pickled Potatoes

**Author's Note:**

> These will probably all be short drabbles like this. I'll add to this collection whenever I might be inspired. I hope you'll enjoy it!

John almost startled as the door to his room was thrown open with enough force that it hit the wall. Almost. He was a hardened ex-agent after all. As expected - as he'd been waiting for, even - his roommate strode inside with large steps and an accusing scowl on her face, holding a can in her hand. The exact reaction he'd been hoping for.

"Reese." she growled.

Using every last inch of his self-discipline, he didn't break down into laughter and instead merely lifted the book he had been reading until a moment a go a bit higher, so he could hide the small grin he couldn't suppress behind it. Taking a deep breath, he waited until he was sure he could keep his voice even and innocent.

"What is it, Shaw?"

She took the last two steps until she stood right next to him. "You know, that is exactly what I was going to ask you. What the actual hell", the can of pickled potatoes he'd bought yesterday came down onto his nightstand with more force than necessary, "is _this?!_ "

With more effort than he wanted to admit, he swallowed down the new wave of laughter trying to force its way out. Two more deep breaths were needed for him to control his expression, though he knew that the look of complete innocence he gave Shaw once he dropped his book wasn't even the least bit convincing. Especially not for someone whose training equalled his own. Still, he soldiered on with his prank, looking down at the can in consideration as if he'd never seen it before.

"I know you're mostly carnivorous, Shaw, but I thought you'd have at least seen a picture of a can before. It's got a thing called 'vegetables' in it. You can eat those. They're good for you."

Impressively, Shaw's scowl deepened even further. "Yeah, the vegetable being _pickled_ _potatoes!_ Now, I don't know who came up with the sick idea to pickle potatoes, or who would think it's a good idea to sell that, but there's just one thing that really interests me. Why the hell would you buy that?!"

He could feel his control over his own expression failing and the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a grin. Judging by Shaw's threateningly raised eyebrow, he wasn't quick enough to correct that slip-up. Still, he clung on to his mask of faux-innocence for a moment longer and shrugged.

"Why not."

John was man enough to admit that the glare levelled at him made even him wince internally. A lesser - or smarter - man would probably have run out of the room when his roommate leant forward and narrowed her eyes, the vein on her temple visibly throbbing in her anger at the intentionally unsatisfying answer.

" _Why. Not?!_ "

This was probably the moment for a better answer then another shrug and a “They're _pickled potatoes_ , so why not?”, but he couldn't help himself, even as he half expected Shaw to punch him. Instead, she leant away suddenly, filling him with a mixture of relief and a sense of impending doom. With a well practised motion she drew her army knife from her boot which was promptly lodged in the top of the can.

Her voice switched from the growl to something almost pleasant. “I am going to open this can, and then you are going to eat these nice, pickled potatoes until you're ready to tell me why you really bought them, because you better have a better reason to buy this abomination than _why not_.”

John looked at the sinister smile she now wore and gulped.

“What's the matter, Reese? Vegetables are good for you."


	2. Attic Antics

“I'm telling you, Reese. It. Won't. Fit.”

Reese just fixed her with the same, even look he had given her the last few times she had raised those concerns.

“It'll be fine.” he said once more, in the tone of voice one would use when talking to a toddler and Sameen's hands tightened around the edge of the table she was helping him carry. She glared at him, letting him see all of the considerable amount of annoyance she was feeling. With an obnoxiously patient sigh, he continued. “You said the same about our apartment door and it fit through there just fine.”

For a split second she resisted rolling her eyes before deciding it wasn't worth the effort and rolled them anyway. “It _barely_ fit. And like I keep telling you, the door to the attic is narrower.”

“It'll fit. You'll see.” he insisted again, still with that too patient tone of this. In retaliation, Sameen took the next two steps faster, making her roommate almost stumble when the table between them pushed him backwards and the his heels hit the next flight of stairs unexpectedly. She smirked when it was now his turn to glare at her.

Carrying the table up the rest of the stairs went semi-smoothly, which was better than expected, but as she had kept telling Reese, they were presented with a problem the moment they had reached the attic's door. The door was a good hand's width narrower than the table. Reese frowned.

“I'd say that I hate to say I told you so, but actually I really don't hate it. Told you.”

Reese's frown deepened. “I'm thinking...”

“Don't strain yourself.”

To her satisfaction, he glared at her again.”Remind me, who said it's too much effort to take the table apart before carrying it up here?”

Sameen shrugged nonchalantly. He did have a point, but she wasn't about to admit that. “I just said it was necessary, not that I'd do it. You decided it'd fit. Which, you know, it doesn't.”

Instead of rising to her barb, he just eyed the table, the corridor they were standing in and the door to the attic again, considering.

“What if we tilt it? Angle it so we can get two of the legs around the corner at a time?”

She followed the line of his gaze, estimating the space needed and if they'd have it in the rather narrow corridor. “Could work.”

Plan set, Reese nodded once in affirmation. “On three?”

Unfortunately, he didn't pause before beginning his countdown, not reacting fast enough when Sameen shouted “Wait! Wrong way around! The...”

A loud clattering of wood impacting on concrete and shattering echoed through the staircase, followed by another bang when both former operatives let go of the table simultaneously – Reese when flinching in surprise at the noise and Sameen in a belated attempt to catch the drawer that until a second ago had lain undisturbed in its casing underneath the table top, but was now following the call of gravity.

“...drawer.”

For a moment they both stood frozen, looking at each other, silently threatening the other with bodily harm (in Sameen's case) or merciless pranks (in Reese's) if they didn't pick the now broken drawer up. She smirked when, after a minute, Reese finally caved with an exaggerated sigh and gathered the pieces, putting them back into the drawer's casing, this time tilting the table the right way around.

With a lot of shuffling and even more cursing, they managed the manoeuvre the table sideways through the door and into the attic, turning on the light by hitting the switch with the closest table leg with some difficulty, being rewarded with a pathetically dim flickering. When she caught Reese's gaze again, she found the exact same sentiment she was communicating to him in it.

_I'm not the one replacing that lightbulb._

In the semi-dark, it took all their concentration to place the unwieldy piece of furniture inside the attic without knocking over any of the crates they stored there – crates that may or may not have been filled with illegal weapons, and sometimes, Sameen was glad to have found Reese as a roommate, at least they shared the opinion that something like that was definitely necessary to have in their attic – that she noticed too late that Reese was about to run into something else she stored up there.

Her roommate gave a visible start when his back hit the large object and let out a short yelp when he turned around, only to be faced with a person-sized wooden statue of vaguely humanoid shape, its amateurishly carved face cast in shadows that only made it look more bizarre. Reese stared for a moment before turning back to her, throwing her a look of bewilderment.

“Shaw, what the...?”

“Don't ask.” she growled, regretting the words the moment they had escaped her vocal chords.

Too late. Reese was tilting his head in curiosity, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. Yeah, definitely regretting those words.

 


	3. Bathroom Blunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, I'm by no means short, but unlike my flatmate, I'm also not a 1.97m/6'5'' beanpole. Unfortunately for me, my flatmate sometimes forgets that.

Hindsight was 20/20. The fact that that saying was frequently accurate didn't stop Sameen from occasionally wanting to punch whoever had come up with it. Nonetheless, she had to admit that in hindsight, climbing up onto the toiled seat and from there bracing one foot on the sink, while having her black, tight jeans open and bunched up awkwardly at mid-thigh height, evidently hadn't been her brightest idea.

Evidently, because now a halfway unfolded towel awkwardly hung off her shoulder, the entire content of a recently opened pack of washing powder had rained down on her, covering her hair, other shoulder, and the towel in an inch-thick layer of white and blue kernels, starting to make her scalp itch, more kernels having found their way down her neckline and into her bra. From the shelf above her – even from her current position just barely within her reach – she heard the sound of several metallic objects rolling before a bottle of deodorant hit her on the head, sending even more washing powder towards her bra. It was immediately followed by the clattering of another deodorant bottle and three tear gas grenades connecting with the tiled floor. The bottle of laundry detergent was still on the shelf, but unfortunately that was due to it now lying horizontally and unlike the bottle itself, its lid had come off and so its contents were slowly trickling out in a small, rose-smelling and rose-coloured stream dripping down onto her knee.

Strewn all over the floor – amongst the tampons, after their box had been caught in the cascade of bathroom paraphernalia by another falling towel despite having been on a different shelf – was her prize: A dozen rolls of toilet paper.

Granted, one would have been enough – getting just one had been the original plan after all – but she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction nonetheless, before carefully lifting her foot from the sink and stepping off the toilet seat, skills honed via years of training as a government operative allowing her to avoid slipping on the mix of laundry detergent and washing powder. With a disgusted scowl, she ripped the towel off her shoulder and wiped the soft pink liquid off her knee. Then dropping the towel to reach up and pull off her scrunchie with somewhat more force than strictly necessary, her long, dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders, releasing a myriad of washing powder kernels to join the other ones already covering the entire bathroom floor. Their quiet clinking was soon accompanied by the expected nearing of footsteps from the hallway, immediately followed by a knock on the bathroom's door.

“Shaw? You alright?” Reese's voice sounded muffled through the wood, the idiot being obviously genuinely concerned. As if she couldn't handle a bathroom. She steadfastly ignored the evidence pointing to the contrary surrounding her at this very moment.

“Fine.” she growled instead, washing her hands and ripping the door open to glare at her roommate. “But you're the one cleaning this up.”

Reese looked at her questioningly, expression shifting into reluctantly impressed astonishment as he took in the mess. After a second, he took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but Sameen cut him off before he could get a word in.

“This. Is _your_ fault.” She jabbed his chest with a finger for emphasis.

Her roommate frowned, puzzled, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “Okay. But what the hell happened and how is it my fault?”

“This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't put the toilet paper on the top shelf. That makes it your fault and _that_ makes you the one cleaning the bathroom.” Non-verbally daring him to argue, she took a step back to pick up the grenades. “And Reese? Tear gas grenades go in the pantry, _not_ on the bathroom shelf.”

With that, she pushed past him into the hallway before he could indeed argue. Too slow, she saw his smirk from the corner of her vision.

“Don't be like that, Shaw. It's not my fault that you're short.”

Two tear gas grenades could go into the pantry, Sameen decided. The third – not triggered of course, after all she did need him to clean up the mess in the bathroom – went flying towards her stupidly tall roommate's head.

 


	4. Strawberry Sacrilege

John held his breath and listened. The flat was quiet aside from the occasional creaking Shaw's bed gave when she moved to turn a page in her book, the sound muffled through the closed door. Good. He'd have plenty of warning once should she get up, intent on joining him for dinner. Nonetheless he turned to look over his shoulder with well-ingrained paranoia and only then did he make his way over to the fridge as quietly as possible.

He cringed as the door of the fridge made a soft creak upon opening it and listened again. No footsteps. Shaw was still in her room. No time to waste then, it was only a matter of minuted until the delicious smell of the steaming Pizzas on the kitchen counter would coax her from her room.

He grinned triumphantly as he took his prize from the fridge and managed to close it soundlessly. Now on to the next step of his plan. The razor sharp army knife sliced easily through the thick, runny layer of cheese on one slice of pizza, lifting it to reveal the tomato sauce, and his grin widened as he opened the glass of strawberry jam. Swiftly grabbing the second knife he'd laid out for that purpose, he scooped a generous amount of jam onto it and lathered it neatly on the cheeseless slice. The colour blended _perfectly_ with the tomato sauce. The flat was still miraculously silent, but John wasted no time putting the cheese back where it belonged and stowing the glass of jam back in the fridge – this time, the door opened silently.

The last step was getting rid of the evidence, which was unfortunately a bit noisier than the rest of his mission, but the sound of running water hitting the kitchen sink was pretty inconspicuous. He watched the red washing from the blade and swirling down the drain while schooling his face back into his usual, neutral expression and took a deep breath.

“Shaw? Pizza's done!”

Instantly, the bed gave a louder creak and the door opened, light footsteps nearing. The moment his roommate stepped into the kitchen, he held out the plate containing the pizza with the tempered-with slice, which Shaw grabbed instantly with an unintelligible muttering that probably meant “Finally.”.

Using years of experience gained during stake-outs, he kept his body still and relaxed even though inside he was vibrating with gleeful anticipation. For all that he tried, he couldn't stop him from glancing over every few seconds, watching Shaw wolf down one slice after the other, getting closer and closer to the one with the strawberry jam. In any other situation, Shaw would've made him in an instant and the whole operation would be blown at the first suspicious glance, but if there was one thing that distracted her enough to overrule her extensive training, it was food.

Tree more normal slices. Two. He felt the corner of his mouth twitching with a suppressed grin. The last one was devoured.

Mark.

Shaw's eyes widened comically before her face fell in disgust. With two hurried steps she crossed the kitchen to the sink and spat the half-chewed piece of pizza out, turning to face him with an expression of horror mixed with fury that he could barely see through the tears of laughter that were gathering in his eyes. The slice of strawberry-pizza raised accusingly towards him, she waited until the worst of his laughter subsided.

“You're sick, Reese. This is pizza! Pizza is sacred!” she said with so much conviction that he couldn't help the second wave of giggles.

“I'm just... trying to add some... variation to your diet. Shaw.” he forced out between gasping breaths.

Shaking her head, she took threatening steps towards him until he couldn't back away any longer, fighting the instinct to push her arm away as she held the pizza slice just inches away from his face.

“No. This?”, she glanced at it with renewed disgust, “Is a declaration of war.”

It took him a second to realise what she meant and it must have shown on his face because in that moment, she smirked self-satisfied and simply let the strawberry slice fall to the floor. War. A prank war. _Well, shit._

He watched her turn and walk out of the kitchen, plate still in her hand and eyeing the remaining slices with suspicion, already beginning to regret his life choices.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it? Comments are my lifeblood!!! :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Don't Trust the Mayhem Twins in Apartment 23 [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17001015) by [tchouli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tchouli/pseuds/tchouli)




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